Chapter 31

Draft

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Lemuel folds his arms, his claws sink into skin. He turns sharply, striding towards you, and pauses briefly in front of you, as if he doesn't know what to do, or isn't sure if he wanted to do it. You look at him, he looks into your eyes, and he makes a decision.

Lemuel spreads his arms and hugs you.

What do you think he's going to say, shake you or tap you on the shoulder, give feedback on what you told him? You cut yourself open for Lemuel with a little apprehension, waiting for him to judge. And he doesn't say a word about your story, his lips are white, and those strong hands grab you and press you to his chest, hugging you tightly. It's only then that you vaguely realize that it's not just anger that made him fidget. Beneath that anger lies a less visible fear.

Lemuel hugs you tightly, his chest is against yours, and you can feel his heart pounding. His heart beats against your ribs, his skin warms your skin, the simmering blood under warms your blood. He's gripping so hard, it's as if he'll fall if he lets go, or maybe it's you who's falling. Lemuel hugs you and hides you in his arms.

You don't remember being hugged by anyone.

You have hugged others, when necessary. You picked up the wounded and the children who couldn't walk, you graciously opened your arms to the believers, and uttered clichés unintentionally. A hug is both a comfort and forgiveness, and you need neither comfort nor forgiveness. Your conduct is impeccable, your morals are impeccable, everyone thinks so. Since you've learned how to walk, no one has held your hand, no one has extended a hand to you. Father Enoch, Son Enoch, who will embrace you? Who is qualified to hug you?

Lemuel hugs you like a scorching sun.

Light and heat explode in your mind, and with a buzzing sound, your thoughts become scattered into the chaos. You think of apples, of the breeze by the window, of the kiss on a forehead, the nun's lips dry and warm. A pair of hands, holding you gently, shaking. Songs in your ears, hymns, lullabies, go to sleep, go to sleep my darling... the fragments scattered in the corners of your memory sweep up with a boom, like an explosion, like a light from heaven. How warm, how warm, tears suddenly come and fall on Lemuel's shoulders.

"What?" Lemuel says in horror, "What?"

He's startled by your tears, wanting to let go and back up. You hold on tight. If he retreats, you move forward, your hand on his, your chin on his neck like a big dog seeking skinship. Lemuel finally gives up and tolerates you, but turns his head frequently and asks if you're fine. Are you fine? You do not know. Your nose is sore, your eye feel hot, and your throat sounds like it's been stuffed with cotton. You don't know what's wrong with you. You open your mouth and language melts the unorganized words in your head, when you finally spit them out, they also sound gooey.

"I..." You say abruptly, "My father is dead."

Brother Ian has already died. He's been dead for five years, nearly six, why are you crying now? Incomprehensible, hilarious, but Lemuel doesn't laugh. He doesn't say a word and pats you on the back, so that you know he understands you. You aren't injured, nothing bad has happened, but turbulent emotions roar past at this moment, and you burst into tears like you had suffered great grievances.

"You're so nice," You say.

You're choking, you're sobbing, your voice is like a crumpled, well-shredded paper, but you're still talking. Because Lemuel is so good. Lemuel sighs in your ear, "You're sick," He says, bowing his head and kissing your shoulder.

You stick together like weirdly conjoined twins. You stick together for more than half an hour, or maybe more than an hour, you're not clear. Your brain is blank, like it's been emptied, like a newborn's. It's getting darker and darker, you should turn on the lights, but you don't want to move. The darkness and warmth seem to lull you back into when you were in your mother's body, making you feel safe and at ease.

Lemuel nudges you and asks if you want something to eat. When he reminded you, your stomach growls, you've just realised today that crying was actually so exhausting. Lemuel whispers in your ear, and you wanted to kiss his throbbing throat. "I'll go get something to eat," He says, and you nod. "Let go of me, I can't do anything like this." He says again, you don't nod, you continue to hold him.

Lemuel groans, you could tell he isn't angry, so you hold on tight and justify. "Don't be so clingy!" Lemuel complains, haggling with you that you can just follow him to the kitchen. You reluctantly let go, and he walks out of the living room, followed by you. You stiffen subconsciously when he turns on the light, but when your vision lights up, when the night that shelters you retreated, nothing bad happened.

Lemuel walks to the kitchen, the headlights snap on, and the dim kitchen suddenly became extremely bright. The exhaust fan starts humming, running water cleaned the ingredients and filled the iron pot, the kitchen knife cuts through the stems and leaves, making a crispy sound. The fire roars, the iron pot crackles, the ingredients squeaked and jumped inside it, the kitchen utensils and tableware collide with a clear ringing chime. This melody sounded here, and the dead silence from not long ago ceased to exist, as if light suddenly appeared in the darkness. If there was a hymn in the void at the beginning of creation, You think, It's probably what you're hearing now.

He kept talking, saying that the onions you bought were too small, and then he said that Maria had once added too much flour to the cream soup, that too much water had been added when mixing the flour so that day's soup had filled a whole pot. Lemuel's topics jumped around, full of inconsequential trivia, his voice mingled with the chants of the kitchen, wrapping you like a warm blanket. Butter, cream, and flour make clouds of color in the pan, and he looks at you and adds a lot of sugar. You shouldn't eat sugar, but you have no objection. Even if he serves nails for you, you will still eat it.

That soup, in fact, was very delicious.

The luscious, creamy taste rolls over your tongue, trickling into your stomach and warming you up. Lemuel sits across from you, his knife slicing through the meat, colliding lightly with the china plate. There are still tears on your face, what rudeness, but Lemuel doesn't mention it, like there's always crying priests sitting next to him every day. This is your home, it's just you, the curtains cover your windows, and whatever you do, no one will see, no one will get angry or disappointed.

You suddenly feel an unspeakable shock.

You're here, he's here, you're hidden in the eyes of everyone, and no one cares. Those eyes have long been buried in the ground, and now only God is watching you, the God that has sent you away from the battlefield, and the God that sent Lemuel to your side. You're dull as a rotten wood and numb as a machine, and the shock of your life turning upside down has been thoroughly and clearly conveyed to your heart at this moment. Your arranged destiny has long been derailed, you looked back and suddenly realize this.

Free.

You're free.

Tears fall again, you don't feel sad, the tears are like thawing frost. "My God," Lemuel mutters, "Is it that bad?" You shake your head eagerly, he laughs again and says, "It's alright, I'm just joking. Eat it!"

He says to you, "Eat it”, while he moves his fork slowly and spent most of his time peeking at you. You are teary-eyed and currently unattractive, but Lemuel is very forgiving. He has been looking at you, occasionally turning his gaze to other places, unconsciously sweeping through the doors and windows, his eyes are cold, as if he is watching for you, like a lion patrolling his territory. You realize that even if Lemuel had wings, he wouldn't fly away, he would shield you under his wings.

You realize that even if you kissed him, maybe God wouldn't send down thunderous wrath.

You lean in to kiss Lemuel, his lips are so soft. Your heart is boiling, you taste his lips and your own emotions, that emotion is ready to come out, you know its name.

Love.

This thought suddenly surfaces, as light as a bubble. Love, you suddenly realize. The fog is blown away, the veil is lifted. You back up a bit, propping up on the table, and look at Lemuel with a new understanding. He's so beautiful, he reminds you of the first sunrise you saw after leaving the chapel, of apples, of candy bars, of warm fur, of the night breeze and the morning dew. He makes you want to hum a hymn, and you look at him like he's the morning light aftee a long night.

"Don't look at me like that," Lemuel says.

He covers your eyes like he can't take it, and you put the back of his hand and let him stay there. You say, "I love you."

Your eyes are closed under Lemuel's hands, and you can't see his expression. The silence goed on for a while, and he seems unsure if he's heard it wrong, he hesitantly saya after a while: "Okay...?"

"I love you." You say, "I love you."

You repeat it once again, many times, like you're using up your lifetime's worth. You don't need a reply, like a child who just learned a word and flaunts it to its mother. You repeat it, from a low murmur to a loud and clear announcement. Your heart beats wildly, and bursts of surprise are running and echoing in your heart. See, you love this man more than all the beings you've never met, you love him, and he's still here, and you're safe and sound.

"Okay." You hear Lemuel whisper, "Okay, okay..."

You feel warm, you feel peaceful, there's no conflict between ecstasy and peace of mind. Those things that have been hidden inside your heart and had been difficult to name have finally surfaced, allowing you to glimpse a corner of the truth, like a helpless blind man peering into a rainbow. You hold Lemuel's hand, he's here, you're here, and everything else is meaningless. The dinner plate falls to the ground, and when Lemuel kisses you, he's the only one left in this world, everything outside this room have ceased to exist.

It was an ordinary night. The curtains blocked the bird's eyes. The nightingale flapped its wings and flew to the neighbor's roof. The neighboring old lady frowns and turns on the radio. The radio station broadcast urgent news of the serial terrorist's attack on the Holy See. Your former abode is being flooded with blood and fire, but at least, at this moment, you know nothing and are not disturbed.

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PastTimer: TLDR- Today Enoch learned that crying is exhausting. 6 more chapters to go!